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I just wanted to take a few minutes to thank everyone who has participated in my Author’s Roundtable discussion series. It’s truly been an eye-opening and rewarding experience to get to know a little bit about the indie authors who’ve sat down with me and discussed their writing journeys, the writing process and to hear how they’ve handled adversity in the publishing world. I truly want to thank each and every one who’s really opened my eyes and given me hope that there’s room for me in the writing world. I’ve really struggled with whether I should share my life story, but it seems like everyone really wants and needs to hear my story. Thank you for showing me I need to bare my heart and soul to the world. I just hope my story inspires and gives people hope for a better tomorrow.

And now, without further delay, here’s a roundup of the amazing author’s who’ve graciously pulled up a chair on the front porch and chewed the fat the past few months. I just hope you’ve enjoyed the visit. I know I have. (Sorry if the porch was a little dirty; I’ve really been slacking in the dusting department.)

I fell and could NOT get up. Simultaneously, I plunged into my personal tragedy saga, which put me in tune with God’s will as well as His plan for the rest of my life. Immediately after my physical tumble an off-duty fireman assessed my injuries as we awaited an ambulance.

Smiling, he stated, “I doubt your spine broke. But, for precautionary measure, let the paramedics transport you on a backboard when they arrive.” Before fully understanding the extent of my injuries, I thanked The Lord it wasn’t worse.

Soon, my mind chuckled while teasing me, “Walk much?”

As I stayed physically still, my brain raced all over the place including calculating the number of hours before potentially going home. Last time I broke that arm, in the car accident just before my marriage, it took a few hours at the ER and a few weeks before it felt good as new. My mind failed to wrap around any idea that this time could be a worst-case scenario. After all, walking speed verses auto collision, there’s no comparison. The crash of metal, upholstery, engines and other vehicle parts surely was worse than this moment. Right?

I never rode in an ambulance, until something threw me for a loop at the local spring and swimming hole. Yes, a potentially life-shattering event occurred in my personal world- which was the second time I broke my left arm. Before that day, I wrote about others as the observer rather than the one subjected to the harsh realities in this existence. Even while ghostwriting or co-writing inspirational and miraculous tales, those other people’s stories felt more surreal than real because I didn’t have to trust God to the degree that those other writers did. Then, it hit me like a ton of bricks-more like a ton of cement shaped like a sidewalk.

When my arm shattered from its impact on that pathway, it was worse than I initially imagined. I had surgery and tons of occupational and physical therapy ahead of me. During the operation, I lost a chunk of my arm’s bone structure to replacement titanium acting as that bone. After a few weeks out of the hospital, I nearly lost my whole left arm to infection. Then, after months of trying to lift that limb to the table or counter top, my doctor warned that I might require more surgery to make that appendage more functional. During the months of recovery after losing part of my humerus, I never lost my funny bone or sense of humor.

In other words, I fell into my story, which put me in tune with God’s will as well as His plan for my life. The book entitled My ArmOr (my life) follows my adventures; it reveals my growing trust in God and His decisions in my life. Did I ever regain the usage of that arm? In my book, I describe my “real-life” education in faith! An excerpt follows.

After my trip and fall, the first words out of my mouth as I flew to that crash landing on my shoulder were, “I don’t believe this!” I still don’t!

This is not my typical reaction to a fall. I think that possibly the song on the boat radio before this harsh landing colored my communication. The Journey melody entitled “Don’t Stop Believing” was going to be hard to do.

When I broke my left arm by the shoulder last week, while still conscious, I said to the ER doctor, “I’ve lost my sense of humerus (bone). It broke! Can’t feel it anymore!” In reality, the humerus gave me enduring pain except when they medicated me as needed!

He read my chart hardly smiling so I turned to my daughter adding, “Tough crowd in the ER-today!” The x-ray tech got the joke smirking while relaying my silliness to her colleague! As decisions were made about transporting me to a trauma hospital, I prayed and meditated knowing my only course was through this ordeal and suffering to get the healing started.

In those traumatic moments, I failed to wrap my head around just how bad that bone broke and why a trauma doctor took over my case. If I’d totally understood the magnitude of my issues, my mind might have snapped. My psyche turned fear into intermittent jokes to alleviate the tension allowing for small emotional eruptions.

Even as I told my husband and daughter that I was sorry for falling and ruining our day at the park, feeling sorry as in pity is not an option to healing! Two hospitals later-with the last being an excellent while newer trauma center-several days later, a partial bionic shoulder arm piece is my new normal. They say I have six months to full recovery but I should! My recovery went far beyond those expectations and not in a good way.

I also wrote to my friends and relatives on Facebook, “I still have my sense of humor!” It’s my coping mechanism.

Some relatives and friends came too soon to see me because the two-hour surgery went way past that mark. It lasted over five going on six hours; so some visitors left before talking to me at that hospital. My Facebook entry let them know I understood. At the second hospital, I was not really ready to socialize after surgery but thanks for coming by or calling.

On August 27, 2009, my entry read, “It’s Thursday and about ten days after surgery. I could barely walk to the doctor’s office because of fatigue, rapid heartbeat and dizziness. I blame the painkiller and am taking myself off it!”

On the way to the trauma, orthopedic surgeon, I decided to walk the ten cars and two blocks to his front door. The blocks were air conditioned as well as inside a wing of the huge hospital. I paused and hesitated four or five times with cold sweats and shortness of breath; it might have appeared a stroke occurred each time my body moved more than ten feet-meaning two feet moving five steps each. Not to mention the constipation! Relief from that pain medication gave me more pain and physical discomfort than my bionic limb. I converted to aspirin that very day.

How do people get addicted; that medication made me feel worse and panicked? It made no sense that some people get hooked on these medications or street drugs. Every time a doctor prescribes me a modern drug, it isn’t a miracle medication as much as a wonder drug. I wondered why I took it because my body reproduced the rare side effects. Once, a long time ago, I took high blood pressure medication. Within two weeks, I couldn’t even lift a fork to eat my muscles were so sluggish and tired. My body suffered the rare side effect that could cause death. Taking myself off that drug, I changed doctors, too. We worked on stress reduction to reduce my blood pressure as well as natural remedies.

One Friday, almost two weeks since the fall on August 15, I wrote; “Don’t get me started on the digestive problems brought on by drugs but birthing my second child without medication was easier on my system. I wasted the full Friday feeling as if I was passing broken glass the size of boulders. I blame the prescription pills; who could ever get addicted-a sadistic soul? Over the counter painkillers here I come!

Speaking of digestion, I, also, wrote a message to all who brought prepared food. “To those neighbors, thanks for bringing my family meals; I never ate so much great meatloaf and lasagna in my life!”

When family, friends and neighbors came to my rescue with meals and help, my husband showed off my x-rays. Each time I worried about the “what ifs.” If this surgery had any problems or my body failed to heal, would I lose my arm? In those moments, my psyche never felt secure even though my mind realized modern medicine already saved my limb because it shattered near the shoulder, which was too much to mend without that operation. In the beginning, my mouth never mentioned my worries while my soul spoke volumes in private prayer.

On August 31, 2010, I wrote my thoughts in Facebook, “Physical therapy with a professional begins. It’s scary not to be able to get myself in and out of bed as well as to sleep on my back. My allergies make me need to cough and swallowing in this position can be hard on me. I’m trying to become a bit more independent! I can’t take the weight of the world on my shoulders anymore-at least not the left one. LOL!”

I don’t care what anyone says that last statement was funny! Plus, my trip finally did what mom always recommended and took the weight of the world and my heart off my shoulders. Her exact words if she were alive would have been, “Stop wearing your heart on your sleeve-where people can find it and knock it off!”

On another day in August, my entry mentioned that“My husband and I were late to Chili’s for our daughter’s birthday. After dinner, my attitude and reactions were a bit too irritable especially while at home sharing cake. I hope my mood didn’t ruin her day!”

Around that same time, courageously, I wrote, “I took my sling off while sleeping. It revealed a hard habit to break. In bed, my left arm goes is in the sling sticking up in the air from my elbow; it rises no matter how many times I push it back down to the bed. I can go without that protection in public but my arm adheres to my side in a sling-like fashion. In crowds, there is a need to wear that device to show others how to treat my left side. Be careful!”

On August 29 I wrote, “It’s hard to feel safe in a room full of kids celebrating my grandbaby’s birthday. She kept asking me if I was okay by saying, “G-ma? What happened?'”

What I call exercise and physical therapy-what I think is tons of work to do six or more times a day in order to get my arm use back, most people call every day or every minute movements; humans take our biological complexity for granted. I have to say before my fall, “me included!”

If the occupational therapist, a shoulder-to-hand specialist, told me to do a routine ten times, I did it thirty times. My goal to get back to normal prompted my actions. Plus, I quickly discovered that the pain diminished the more I worked the shoulder joint, arm muscles and surrounding body parts. I told my Facebook pals, “I’m still not out of the woods but hope I am soon because I am allergic to oak, pine, mold, mildew, birds and some other animals. LOL!” No joke! I really do have allergies.

My ability to poke fun at my realities helped me through many bad times in my lifetime- this one included. My entries reflected my coping style. “Now, that I have a new top humerus, because of it shattering at the ball top, I need to say that I’m glad I got that chip off my shoulder.”

Read more in the paperback or e-book version of My ArmOr (my life) available at Amazon and Kindle as well as Smashwords and its affiliates KOBO, Sony, Barnes and Noble, etc.

About Cindy Hanson

I work for GOD! Is she crazy or telling the truth? What I mean to say is that I write many nonfiction books that are really just scribing the history of His stories. My tales are Christian-based; at least one of those books points directly to heaven. Most of the time, I explain how bad situations and good ones have the potential to bring hope and love along with stronger faith.

My writing started after a major life change or trauma. In fact, my favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started writing? The short answer is that in 1991 my mother died. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! However, as she died, mom experienced what would be called a Christian near death experience (NDE) or miracle. My nonfiction witness became Mom’s on the Roof, and I Can’t Get Her Down by Cynthia Meyers-Hanson.

Since then, I diversified into the other books and genres; I continue to toy with writing. I’ve co-authored or compiled several other divine tales. Meanwhile, I have ghostwritten many novels under the pen name Sydney S. Song. I use a pseudonym so that people know when my books are telling the truth and when I am fibbing (a bit). Recently, I’ve produced many picture books for children. I also compile collections and anthologies filled with true short stories from the Divine to mundane including humorous tales.

In real life, I’m a friendly Floridian, born and raised in Miami’s megalopolis. I currently live a bit further north with my husband. We are semi-retired. Our children are out of the house; some are married with their own children. We love outdoor activities such as boating and swimming at the pool, springs or beach.

Welcome to the third installment of the series by Cindy Hanson. This story is about how a wonderful woman survived the heart attack, with some Divine intervention. If you don’t believe in God, this story will definitely change your mind.

Anne is almost 81 and has had many setbacks including since Mother’s Day 2012 when she suffered a heart attack and had stints put in. She’s had so many comebacks after health problems such as cancer, strokes and a potential bleed out that those close to her expected her miracles healings to continue. However, Anne has been having trouble learning to walk and transfer herself from a bed to a wheelchair, so she faces permanent care in a nursing home.

Have the Divine interventions stopped? Her current situation reminds me of Lazarus, the guy Jesus brought back to life. Lazarus eventually died; Jesus Christ’s miracle of awakening that man from the dead served a purpose but all mortals eventually die in the flesh. It’s inevitable.

Before Anne goes she’d want to tell you a few things. This blog will serve as her voice.

When speaking about faith and survival, so many people respond, “I just DO NOT believe!” or “I certainly DO NOT want to hear your testimony!” They may even jest about Bible thumping or ask for proof before accepting a religious belief-especially “a certainty in the afterlife.” Trust me, having faith helped me survive so many things; in some ways, that is enough in my life. Except, I do expect more, “in the eternity,” after I die and go to Heaven. Even if I am wrong, my viewpoint gave me the will to go forward especially through the roughest times. Plus, unlike some people, I never felt alone in the tragedies or good moments. A comforting, positive, healing “presence” guided me.

…

The good sisters of Notre Dame told their students, including me, all about our guardian angels and the Holy Spirit. These spiritual beings are ALWAYS WITH US especially WHEN WE NEED THEM THE MOST! By that, I mean that they are ever-present but make themselves better known when their human counterpart needs comforting or aid. Ever since learning about this special relationship, when I sense that someone stands nearby but no humans are present, when I feel a “PRESENCE” of some sort (God) especially during a traumatic situation-my soul reminds me that my guardian angel as well as our Maker remains within reach helping me keep from stumbling on the current rough patch in my life’s path. This Being guides my soul. This idea comforts me, and I wonder why everyone cannot accept such a spiritual blessing as never feeling lonely or alone in their turmoil.

Feeling this warmth and love many times, knowing my body experienced spontaneous healings on many occasions as well, I believe in a supreme plan and an unseen force, God, available to direct us on this path of life. The ultimate designer of things in this world is always available to pick the spirit up and calm the soul down. After you finish my life account, you can decide for yourself.

Regardless of your opinion, it is comforting to possess my outlook. When I find myself in times of trouble, seeking words of wisdom, my spirit relies on the spiritual leader that speaks to my soul while guiding my flesh! The comforter, the Holy Spirit, His angels, and the mercy of God push me through and past the ordeal. No one knows for sure what lies ahead or after this world’s life but my gut feels that my destiny is Heaven.

Sincerely,

The storyteller

Elizabeth Anne Powalisz

AKA- birth name- Anne LaMonte

An excerpt from her book and testimony follows; it’s about faith healing!

Even though, the time of day made it April Fool’s Day, the doctor looked her straight in her eye saying, “If we can’t stop your bleeding, you will be dead by the end of the day!” The announcement was not followed by laughter and a clever line about how this hospital visit was all just a bad joke. That would not be funny, anyway! Unbelievable thoughts raced through her mind as Anne heard, “This fever must break before you can receive a blood transfusion. Without it, there is not much hope!”

This news shook Anne to her soul. She finally heard that her bruising indicated internal bleeding that might kill her. When lunch arrived, she nibbled not feeling any urge to eat. She felt some contentment but she could not rest or sleep, either-not right away.

About three in the afternoon, two women from her church came in and gave her communion. They asked Anne to pray with them, which she did. All of the sudden, tears rolled down the patient’s cheeks. She sobbed as they continued praising. Soon, she heard Father Joe’s shuffle coming down the hallway.

The two women greeted this priest at the door informing him, “Our sister in Christ is crying but we do not know why!”

He entered the room as the two women left. Anne failed to speak because of her emotional state. Without delay, the priest started anointing this sick parishioner. As his healing hands moved over Anne’s forehead, again, with God as her witness, her body felt on fire. The tears really flowed through the prayers of this man. Without uttering a word, she remained mystified as he finished his sacramental blessing then left her hospital room.

Near the end of his blessing, she stopped crying. Anne felt a comforting “presence.” It lulled her into very sound sleep.

She failed to awaken for supper. After midnight, as the night nurse took her vitals, Anne finally spoke asking the woman, “Can you change this bedding and my gown? I am soaking wet!”

Her nurse recognized her, “I remember you from September of last year. I remember your heart’s irregularities spontaneously healed last time you visited us.” Then, she helped change this patient as well as the sheets. As she finished her tasks, the lady added, “I believe you broke that fever. I can call the lab technician to draw your blood. You may be well enough for that transfusion but the blood count will be studied before that procedure. I have a good feeling about your blood work.”

This nurse winked at Anne because this medical worker believed that her patient received blessings and presents of healing from a Supreme Source.

Anne felt very comfortable falling easily back to sleep. About four in the morning, she heard a male voice calling her out of slumber. The face of her technician became less blurry as she opened her eyes. Another familiar face; he drew her blood in September.

“Mrs. LaMonte?” He looked shocked and amazed to see her back.

“Jock, is that you?”

He asked, “How do you know my name?”

Anne answered, “When someone is as patient as you trying to find veins, your attitude remains a great memory especially when you had to use one directly connected to my heart. When you mentioned that only a few people are permitted to use that vein, how could I forget you and your gentleness?”

So you remember me?”

Yes, you introduced yourself by name back then. You are from Jamaica, right?” He shook his head smiling while completing his current task.

About a half hour later, the night nurse returned with a huge smile, “Just as I suspected! Your internal bleeding stopped; your blood count is back to normal. There is NO reason for a blood transfusion!”

This woman shared the secret of this healing with Anne but soon others would hear the good news-the God news.

After hearing the test results, Anne let out a sigh of relief falling back to sleep while feeling very content! Voices interrupted her rest. While making rounds with the entourage, the mentoring physician reviewed her blood results. As she remained drowsy, he listened to her heart. He announced to the interns, “This patient arrived with internal bleeding because of unmonitored Coumadin. For some unexplained reason, her bleeding stopped when her fever broke. A technician drew blood a couple of hours ago; her blood count returned to completely standard range. A scheduled blood transfusion became unnecessary.”

Pleasantly pleased, these resident interns and their mentor talked very softly among themselves while shooting strange looks Anne’s direction.

Did her spontaneous healing stump them?

She heard versions of mind over body, power of positive thinking over healing, and some blessing and thanking of God’s redeeming power. Before she fully assessed the outcome and affect on these medical people, they all moved on to their next patient.

Anne felt just as amazed and astounded. She sincerely believed that she-once again- witnessed the faith driven power of healing. She firmly believed that her reliance on God and His angels brought this supernatural cure. In her opinion, His angels sustained her as His priest bestowed The Lord’s therapeutic force upon her ailing body during the sacrament performed.

“To have the supernatural world pick you up once you have fallen is the greatest feeling; everyone should be blessed with this experience!” Anne spoke these words often after her second, miracle cure-if you don’t count the natural ones from medication after her breast cancer, which would place this count at four including her resulting staph infection. She wondered if there might be a limit to how many times God presents the gift of healing to one soul. She felt remarkably blessed. Her spirit praised God for sending the priest, twice, with His gift of renewed health.

Soon after these curative experiences, Father Joe’s advanced age and his illnesses got the best of him. The priest returned to his Connecticut seminary. There, he died. She wondered if this soul knew what a special talent and privilege he was to Anne’s world.

Father Joe was a faith healer and tool or vessel used by God to get the job done. You can find the full story in Anne’s book entitled The PRESENCE-The Presents. The book and eBook version are available at Amazon and Kindle as well as Smashwords and its affiliates Kobo, Sony, and Barnes and Noble.

About Cindy Hanson

I work for GOD! Is she crazy or telling the truth? What I mean to say is that I write many nonfiction books that are really just scribing the history of His stories. My tales are Christian-based; at least one of those books points directly to heaven. Most of the time, I explain how bad situations and good ones have the potential to bring hope and love along with stronger faith.

My writing started after a major life change or trauma. In fact, my favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started writing? The short answer is that in 1991 my mother died. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! However, as she died, mom experienced what would be called a Christian near death experience (NDE) or miracle. My nonfiction witness became Mom’s on the Roof, and I Can’t Get Her Down by Cynthia Meyers-Hanson.

Since then, I diversified into the other books and genres; I continue to toy with writing. I’ve co-authored or compiled several other divine tales. Meanwhile, I have ghostwritten many novels under the pen name Sydney S. Song. I use a pseudonym so that people know when my books are telling the truth and when I am fibbing (a bit). Recently, I’ve produced many picture books for children. I also compile collections and anthologies filled with true short stories from the Divine to mundane including humorous tales.

In real life, I’m a friendly Floridian, born and raised in Miami’s megalopolis. I currently live a bit further north with my husband. We are semi-retired. Our children are out of the house; some are married with their own children. We love outdoor activities such as boating and swimming at the pool, springs or beach.

Welcome to the second installment of the series by Cindy Hanson. This story is told in Wavie’s words starting with this excerpt from her book’s introduction.

Even before my birth, God designed a plan for my life. He precisely cut the puzzle shapes and pieces, so they fit correctly into my life. He guided my path even as my own ideas, a product of my “free will,” took shape. He mapped it out selecting a good route for me to take because the Father knows best.

All the time, the pieces to my life’s puzzle arrived in predestined time and order….

Before my near fatal car accident, I thought my life contained all the good things that God wanted and provided for me. My marriage was strong (even after enduring the accident’s fallout). My life was filled with two loving, beautiful girls and a baby on the way. Church and God were traditionally attended giving me the delusion that my life could not get any better than the moments before the collision. In that moment, in that car accident, and during that storm-I learned about the incompleteness of my life and to totally rely on God’s better judgment because His plan arrives perfect, with all the puzzle pieces set to fall into place. However, if I used my will rearranging parts of the design, my soul discovered nothing fit right.

Eventually, as I messed up, my spirit gave in to the Creator’s Will. When my logic let go of the reins, God reigned fairly. From the beginning events, a task seemed more bearable with His guidance. God never guaranteed a life without heartache; He did promise assistance from His Holy Spirit, the Comforter. God is with me and you in all circumstances. It’s like the poem Footprints says-it is when hard times hit and your soul falters that God picks you up and carries you to the next destination on the road of life.

Meanwhile, the more you go through in life, the more you mature and grow in faith. As this book reveals, I trust and believe in Jesus now more than ever. Even though before my car crash, my spirit was God-fearing, my soul had stalled satisfied in the delusion or idea that I had it all. With my logic, my being thought my life blossomed perfectly through my career, husband, children, family and church life. After the vehicle mishap, my mind realized the only perfect thing in my life was God. My reliance centered on Him rather than humans in my circle after this life-changing event. Plus, people make mistakes letting you down but the Master never fails to provide.

You may ask me for anything in My Name, and I will do it. (John 14:14)

When life throws you a curve ball such as my near fatal auto accident, one thing is guaranteed through faith, and it is that God will help you through any tragedy…

…If we pay attention to our Creator, He can make good things happen in our lives even through adverse times….

As I tell people, my accident is the best thing that ever happened to me. Either they can continue giving me a puzzled look or find out how the pieces fit together perfectly in His plan. Read this book and find out how tragedy turns into a divine design!

One of the miracles of Wavie’s recovery from a car accident that required the Jaws of Life to free her and left her in a 14-day coma as well as unable to walk follows.

This excerpt is from the chapter entitled “Doctor’s Prayers Answered.”

The premise of this section is: The Lord upholds all those who fall and lifts up all who are bowed down. (Psalm 145:14)

During her (14-day) coma, she witnessed a doctor praying. He knew the extent of her injuries. The man realized the precarious situation of her healing verses the life of her unborn child. This human asked God for guidance and help. The Lord Jesus answered- freely; the response arrived, “Yes, I will help you through this and any situation.”

After the car wreck, Wavie sometimes guided her hospital care. She faced multiple surgeries and tons of therapy, but her good attitude never wavered. Nothing, not even the thought of 100 days in a hospital, got her down. Nevertheless, feeling that modern medicine might be inhibiting her full recovery, she went with her gut and spirit deciding to curtail some of her pain medication. When she asked for less medical intervention, her focus changed. Her whole perspective changed! The lady looked to the end of her body’s throbbing and suffering instead of concentrating on her current state.

Meanwhile, the doctors felt their hands tied because they could not operate freely on her because of her unborn daughter. In the aftermath of the near fatal accident, her physicians could not simply focus on getting her well because her surgeries had to be spaced out to protect the fetus. Plus, some alternatives to highly sedated operations must be found in order to protect the life growing within her womb. One day, her doctor trusted in prayer and this patient’s good attitude as he scheduled an alternative to a full out restorative procedure on one of her limbs.

“I want to fix the gaping hole in your leg,” he bowed the same way he did in prayer while this patient laid unconsciousness days earlier. “I cannot give you more anesthesia because of your condition.”

Wavie understood the severity of her lesion while wondering what the procedure entailed. As they stared at her wounded body, the image of missing chunks of tissue greeted them unpleasantly. The leg did not contain enough tissue or outer skin to simply press and pull to stitch it closed. He tugged at her remaining skin to demonstrate just how bad the hole in her limb looked. On top of the opening, that body part already housed metal pins and drainage tubes from previous procedures. However, the stench at the sight warned of pending bacterial invasions that might claim the leg if left in its open state. She remembered this smell that greeted her nose during her twilight state; her heart knew the area needed major healing. The procedure discussed already felt overdue.

This doctor did not leave her in the dark about her situation and the pending operation for long. “I need to graft a part of your buttocks to the hole in your leg tomorrow. During the procedure, I will give you a local painkiller because I cannot put you completely under.”

After exiting the coma, this pending operation was the only time that Wavie ever felt apprehensive. She worried with prayer all night. If she balked at the doctor’s idea, infection might set in. Her wound needed to heal so that her leg could remain a part of her body. After her mediation on the consequences of resisting this surgery, worry set in. What would the next day bring?

Your Father knows what you need before you ask him. (Matthew 6:8)

After realizing her full healing remained out of her control, she allowed God to whisper in her ear guiding her thoughts and prayers. As she contemplated the next day getting very little rest, she relived the man’s visits. She remembered a doctor praying with her the day he visited her comatose bedside. Suddenly, she envisioned the healing her physician asked from God. Her highly agitated soul settled into the Supernatural Being’s goal for her recovery.

The next day, when her physician arrived to prepare her for the procedure to repair the damaged tissue in that leg, he pulled her limb into view. Simultaneously, shock and amazement filled their souls and the room. The Lord recovered her tissue during the night, and there remained only a small hole where the drainage tube and metal bracing holding her broken leg resided on this once, more fully mangled appendage. That day, one of many miracles met their eyes and blended into their hearts as well as this testimony. God stayed with her just as He guaranteed in His whispers throughout this whole ordeal. His promises healed her painful situation faster than the medicine or man!

While the faithful such as Wavie believe everlasting, those struggling with the reason bad things happen need to see legs heal and other mending wonders to widen their faith. Many humans need clearer signs of God’s love; that is why this and other miracles occurred in Wavie’s religious story. These types of phenomena happen to help those on the perimeter feel a part of the circle of God’s loving arms. These events change outlooks; sometimes they help the victim. At other times, they encourage those nearby. When communicated orally or in a book, these testimonies give many new insights into God’s deep and eternal love for all mankind.

Unless you people see miraculous signs and wonders, Jesus told him, you will never believe. (John 4:48)

Wavie still had to suffer her body’s situation, which changed her perspectives; she became more dependent on Him than ever before.

Among other things, Wavie still had bones to mend, surgeries to endure, a baby on the way, to learn to walk-again-and a witness (book) to write. Find out more about her recovery as well as her Divine guidance in Through the Storms HE Performs (Subtitle: Learning to Trust and Believe in JESUS).

About Cindy Hanson

I work for GOD! Is she crazy or telling the truth? What I mean to say is that I write many nonfiction books that are really just scribing the history of His stories. My tales are Christian-based; at least one of those books points directly to heaven. Most of the time, I explain how bad situations and good ones have the potential to bring hope and love along with stronger faith.

My writing started after a major life change or trauma. In fact, my favorite question during book interviews is: How did you get started writing? The short answer is that in 1991 my mother died. Some people dream of being authors; my writing began as what could be described as a nightmare! However, as she died, mom experienced what would be called a Christian near death experience (NDE) or miracle. My nonfiction witness became Mom’s on the Roof, and I Can’t Get Her Down by Cynthia Meyers-Hanson.

Since then, I diversified into the other books and genres; I continue to toy with writing. I’ve co-authored or compiled several other divine tales. Meanwhile, I have ghostwritten many novels under the pen name Sydney S. Song. I use a pseudonym so that people know when my books are telling the truth and when I am fibbing (a bit). Recently, I’ve produced many picture books for children. I also compile collections and anthologies filled with true short stories from the Divine to mundane including humorous tales.

In real life, I’m a friendly Floridian, born and raised in Miami’s megalopolis. I currently live a bit further north with my husband. We are semi-retired. Our children are out of the house; some are married with their own children. We love outdoor activities such as boating and swimming at the pool, springs or beach.

I wondered how to start this. So after thinking about it and discarding various ideas, I decided just to start at the beginning. I was born in February 1972. There was a problem, however. It was way too early for me to be born. I think my weight was something like two pounds, one ounce. In essence I was pretty small. My lungs weren’t properly developed so apparently I had some trouble breathing. Doctors didn’t hold out much hope for me. They even suggested to my mother that she didn’t get attached because I probably wouldn’t make it. Every time I hear that, I have the same thought: “How can anyone advise a mother not to get attached to her child regardless of whether chances of survival are good or not?” There was only one doctor who thought I would make it. Apparently there was another baby with the same name as me, who sadly didn’t make it. My parents thought perhaps I wouldn’t, either. Someone, somewhere must have been praying though.

Since I’m not a ghost, and I’m here writing this blog, I guess that doctor was correct. He was our family doctor for some years.

Homecoming

After a long time, it was finally time. They were releasing me from the hospital. My mother must have been super excited. I had been in a humidity crib for about three months according to my mother.

I want you to come with me back to that time. Picture this if you will for a moment. My Italian mother walks in with baby clothes so she can dress me and finally bring me home. She would be planning a future for her fourth child who almost didn’t survive. Her youngest child, and only girl, is finally getting out of the hospital. She can finally hold her baby… Along comes a docto. He is actually a specialist and top of his field. He casually asks if she is ready to take her baby home. When she replies in the affirmative, he again casually asks, “You do know you are bringing a blind child home, don’t you?” Apparently this was the first my mother had heard of this. She was either not given any prior warning, or didn’t understand what they had said. Whatever the case, this was a major shock. Are you thinking that the doctor was pretty harsh? She was offered no counseling or anything. She didn’t know how to cope with it all, and went through a bad period in her life where she drank a lot and grieved. She still looked after me, though, and from what I’m told, I was never, ever neglected. God used one of the most unlikely people to help mum snap out of her grief and start looking for solutions.

A lady who also had my name and was, let us say, engaged in the oldest profession out there, came and spoke to my mum. In short she asked mum some questions. I am paraphrasing but the dialogue went something like this. “Look at her. She is a beautiful baby. What will happen to her if something happens to you? Who will look after her?”

This was apparently just what mum needed.

I grew up loved and, yes, very spoiled. I thrived, in spite of it all. Not only was I born into a loving family who were prepared to take care of me and love me no matter what, but I was able to beat the odds and live when everyone said I wouldn’t. Doctors said I probably wouldn’t walk until I was two, but with sound guidance from mum, she says I walked at 14 months. I apparently have always loved music and talked fairly early, both in English and Italian. I am still impossible to shut up apparently.

From the time I was able to understand this stuff, I think I realized, be it dimly, that God has had His hand on my life all my life. Yep, read that sentence again. In other words, looking back on my life, I can see God has been there as a lifelong companion. With God and the wonderful family He gave me, I was able to beat the odds and live a full life. I could continue writing, but this blog would get rather long. Stay tuned for more from me.

Today I bring you the inspiring, courageous story of Jamie Inman, who survived two bouts of breast cancer. If you have a wife, sister, mother, aunt or friend, I encourage you to ask them to get a mammogram at least once a year. You never know how important getting checked can be, until it’s too late.

In December 2005, a second cancer was found in my left breast. Although surprised because thirteen years had elapsed since my first bout (well beyond “cured”), my strongest emotion was annoyance. The previous eighteen months I had devoted to caring for my dying father, then my widowed mother; by comparison my cancer was a tiresome interruption.

For the first go-round with cancer I had taken the conservative path of lumpectomy with radiation, which ultimately failed me, so this time I was aggressive. On Feb. 6, 2006, I had a double mastectomy with immediate DIEP flap reconstruction. With three surgeons working for more than ten hours the procedures went smoothly. A few hours later, however, my left breast looked bad, so they returned me to surgery and discovered that a vein had closed (probably weakened by the previous radiation) and caused a thrombosis. My surgeon took a vein from my ankle and reconnected the blood supply between the mammary vessel and the flap. He saved the flap, but the breast had nearly doubled in size with clogged blood, so he had to leave the wound open to heal. It looked nasty, but didn’t hurt more than the right breast, and eventually healed. It did require an extra revision surgery to reduce the size for symmetry, after which I had two lovely C cups, with nipples and areola to follow: a grand total of seven surgeries. And that was the easy part.

Except for the extreme nausea in the hospital, the physical suffering was surprisingly easy; to my horror and dismay, the emotional aftermath was almost unbearable. The profound “tearing of flesh” of the surgery unearthed even more profound emotional damage from early sexual abuse. I am not a stranger to depression and anxiety—I have experienced both, plus I am a psychotherapist and work with sufferers every day. Were this not true I would have thought I was going insane when flashbacks to childhood abuse suddenly erupted weeks after the surgery. While I could not prevent or stop it, at least I understood what was happening to me, and had resources for coping with it.

I became miserably dependent on (fell in love with) my doctor (he has the patience of Job and very good boundaries). I also had the good sense to call my own therapist to begin the hard work of healing wounds I did not know remained. I was so overwhelmed for a time that I missed work for two months beyond the post surgery period. Once I stabilized and returned to work, dealing with the post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) still required intensive therapy, sweat and tears (no more blood!), but did not sideline me completely again.

I never asked, “Why me?” but I DID ask, “Why at all? Why should anyone have to suffer like this?” Refusing to let my suffering go to waste I beseeched God to help me give it meaning. Since then I have devoted myself to bridging the gap between excellent physical care of patients’ bodies and excellent emotional care for their hearts and minds by sharing my harrowing, sometimes hilarious, odyssey with others who are facing the same ordeal.

Celebrated 60th birthday

Six years and a thousand deaths later I have emerged from the valley of the shadow of death, stronger and healthier than before, both physically and mentally. The lessons learned in the dark valley are numerous and precious. Neither recovery is automatic, both require patience and effort, but the fruit of the labor is beyond measure. There are losses with the gains. I love my flat tummy and perky breasts. But I miss the sensitivity of my nipples, a very important erogenous zone. It is not a tragedy, but it is a terrible loss that continues to pose painful challenges in my intimate life.

But even more I love the emotional freedom gained through this “severe mercy.” It has been a journey I would never have signed up for, but I would not trade for anything. My experience is probably not typical, but my prayer is that another lonely traveler will find something in my story that helps her make sense of her own.

I sign off with my survivor’s motto: “I am alive . . . and I have cleavage!”

About Jamie Inman

Jamie Inman grew up in Santa Clara County when it was famous for prune trees instead of silicon chips. In the thirty years between college and seminary she was a stay-at-home mom of two daughters and a son, all of whom are successfully launched. In 1999 she completed a masters degree from Western Seminary in marriage and family therapy and has worked in private practice since then.

Jamie has survived breast cancer twice and works tirelessly to support people who have been affected by the disease by encouraging and educating, with a uniquely personal touch. She founded Stay In The Pink in order to advance the cause of prevention and early detection.

Her proudest achievement, however, is her marriage of more than 43 years. Both California natives, Jamie and Doug have lived near San Jose for more than 25 years. They enjoy good food, traveling and being active in church life. They love the empty nest and agree that “only the first 25 years were hard.” Jamie also takes great pride in teaching classes in the community on various topics relating to personal growth, family life and breast cancer activism.

Jamie is a motivational speaker and teacher, speaking on an array of topics including, but not limited to: “Losing Our Breasts, Finding Ourselves,” “The Secrets Of A Happy Marriage: Only The First 25 Years are Hard” and “Finding Myself in a Psych Ward.” A licensed marriage and family therapist, Jamie specializes in counseling for a variety of mental health and spiritual topics, including couples therapy, family therapy, depression, anxiety disorders, post traumatic stress disorder and many more. Jamie Inman is also a two-time breast cancer survivor, and in 2008 she founded the Stay in the Pink organization, a resource for women and men affected by breast cancer. Jamie is also one of the founders and the current president of The Giving Ribbon, which provides information, resources and emotional support to San Benito County residents living with breast cancer. Today Jamie continues her work as the founder and CEO of Stay in the Pink while maintaining her private therapy practice as she works to build her newest venture, Jamie Inman Enterprises. A complete listing of current speaking topics is available on her website. To request Jamie for your next speaking engagement, contact The Lowry Agency.

Hi guys!! Me again. I just wanted to update you on the progress of my first book. I’ve decided to put my life story on hold until further notice. I just don’t have time with work and everything else going on in my life right now (family, sleep, eating, sleep, driving an hour each way to work, oh, and did I mention sleep?).

The past few days I’ve had a brand new idea for a fiction book, loosely based on my relationship with my grandfather. The book will follow a young Native American warrior who has spina bifida and his aging grandfather, who is the chief of their tribe. The grandfather has always looked after his grandson like he’s one of his own children, often taking him fishing, hunting or making sure he has something to eat whenever he visits their land. As time goes by and the young warrior grows up, he slowly fades from his grandfather’s life, just as the warrior’s own father faded from his life, often to feed his need for tobacco and alcohol.

One day while the younger Indian is out hunting and fishing so his family has something to eat for the winter, he feels a mysterious presence with him, almost telling him to go see his grandfather. When he arrives, he realizes that his grandfather has contracted smallpox and scarlet fever. As he is making his way back to the reservation, the warrior can’t help but feel guilty for not going to see his grandfather more often and being there for him when he really needed him. Will he arrive at the reservation in time to save his grandfather’s life? Or will he get there just in time to say his final goodbyes and pay his last respects to the one man in his life who actually treated him like his own son?